


Flares

by pikawrites



Category: The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Closeted Character, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-05-14 23:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19283035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikawrites/pseuds/pikawrites
Summary: Did you find it hard to breathe?Did you cry so much that you could barely see?You're in the darkness all alone and no one cares, there's no one there, but did you see the flares in the sky?Were you blinded by the light?Did you feel the smoke in your eyes?Did you, did you?Did you see the sparks filled with hope?You are not alone cuz someone's out there, sending out flares.<><><>Every chapter title is a song and they all have meaning behind them.Playlist here: https://sptfy.com/flares





	1. The Strays

It was uncomfortable, the dress Emma was wearing. It fit perfectly, but it just didn’t feel right on her body. She hated it, but she couldn’t tell that to her parents as she sat in the backseat of their car on the way to the school dance. She stared at the flowing skirt, fidgeting with the hem of the blue fabric as she tuned out the voices around her whilst the ones in her head took over—voices that belonged to her parents, most of her family members, and a few of her so-called friends.

_“All the other girls will be wearing dresses, Emma Reese.”_

_“You don’t want everybody to talk about you behind your back, do you?”_

_“What do_ you _suggest you wear? A dress shirt and pants? Don’t be ridiculous.”_

 _“You look cute, come on! You’ll get used to it.”_  

Wrong, wrong, wrong, and _wrong_.

It was just an outfit, yes, but it was giving the blonde girl overwhelming anxiety to the point she felt she couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t focused on anything. Hazel eyes stared out the window, watching the blurred image of the world passing her by as she tried to remain calm and just breathe, but it was quite difficult.

 _“You look so cute!”_ The relatives would say all in her mother’s Facebook comments, but she certainly didn’t feel cute. She felt ridiculous, she felt like she stood out too much, albeit she didn’t. She felt dizzy and nauseous. She didn’t even want to go to the stupid dance anymore. She didn’t have a date, nor did she want one. She got a bit of shit for it from her friends because they all had someone to go with, but she just wasn’t interested in guys…at all. Nor had she ever been, but of course nobody knew that and of course nobody _could_ know that. Her excuse was that she was independent, but the truth was that for a few years now, the young girl knew she liked _other_ girls. She was a lesbian; a term she hadn’t learned until she turned fourteen and she had just turned fifteen about five months ago.

Emma always knew she was different and weird. In fact, she embraced it, but this was different, this affected her entire life and her future and her family. It made her, in her mind, unlovable. It wasn’t politically correct in Indiana to be gay. That just wasn’t how it worked around there. Sure, the world was a better place now and being a part of the LGBT+ community was more widespread accepted and _okay,_ but in Indiana it just…wasn’t. Not yet, even if gay marriage had been legalized.

She had done her research on these things and turned to the internet for answers; where else was she supposed to get them from? The kids at school were just as bad as the adults in Edgewater and that was why she was in this uncomfortable dress, attending her freshman year homecoming _alone_.

Because she _was_ alone.

She liked being alone, that wasn’t always so bad, but being lonely hurt her. There was an emptiness in her heart and a longing to fit in. She wanted acceptance, but knowing she wouldn’t get it? She remained quiet. She kept to herself, wrote some songs, interacted mostly online with people she had never met before, yet these were the people that accepted her without a thought; that was what kept her sane and affirmed her sexuality.

She wasn’t even sure why she was at this dance, but there was no going back now. Her parents had parked the car and she was stepping out of it.

“Have fun!” They called after her, but she ignored them, walking past the poorly-decorated entrance into the better-decorated gym. She glanced around quickly, then went and grabbed some punch before heading off to the corner and just standing there, observing the other students like the wall-flower she was.

 Yes, she had a few friends there, but she really didn’t feel like speaking with them. She just was not in a mood to deal with anything, not while she was wearing this _stupid_ dress. Besides, they all were cheerleaders, not her type. Not at all. She just hung around them because they were in her grade and…available to hang out with.

Then there were the band geeks, some of which she was friends with merely because one saw her playing the guitar after school hours one day, on the bleachers. They were more acquaintances, but he—Freddie—was probably her favorite friend from school, even if she wasn’t as close to him.

The band kids never showed up to dances either.

She was still questioning _why_ exactly she was there. She didn’t want to be at all.

She lasted about twenty minutes just standing around watching everybody and thinking before she drained her cup of the colorful liquid and threw it away, walking outside and going to the bleachers. She climbed to the top of them and sat down in a position that was _very_ unladylike and would be deemed unacceptable. Her legs draped over her thighs as she pulled out her phone and opened it up, launching Twitter to scroll her timeline briefly before checking her direct messages.

She had a few and she responded to them, then she switched to Tumblr, clearing her notes and then looking to see if she got any asks. Her eyebrows furrowed as she noticed one in particular:

 _Hi_ _butchy-duck,_

_I wanted to start this out by saying I love your page. I stumbled across it while in search of answers about myself. (The answer being: yes, you are a lesbian, congratulations, your life just got a whole lot harder!). I followed you some months ago and have been quiet about it until, well, now, honestly. I don’t know why I was so drawn to your blog specifically, but the fact that we are both lesbians_ _living in the sticks could have something to do with it. I know it isn’t easy to live in the midwest as_ _it is, but being gay and doing so is absolute hell._

_I am also closeted and don’t plan on coming out any time soon, but it’s nice to know that there are people out there just like me. The same age and everything. It’s comforting. Thank you._

_— x.x._


	2. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And these children that you spit on  
> As they try to change their worlds  
> Are immune to your consultations  
> They're quite aware of what they're goin' through"
> 
> \- Changes // David Bowie

It baffled her because it was an unusual ask, one that she hadn’t received before. It wasn’t the first time Emma had received this type of anonymous appreciation, but it was the first time she’d been written more than one sentence.

The strangest part was that she didn’t want to respond publicly as she usually did. She wanted to talk to this person more if she could. Most of her followers and friends lived in the United Kingdom, Ireland, or California It was somehow rare that she found one located within the same timezone.

She typed her response rather quickly but drafted it instead of sending it, then after a bit more feed-scrolling, she went back and deleted it altogether, deciding she’d return to that after she for sure figured out how to handle it and what she would say.

Even when she got home that night, she was still thinking about it.

She ended up with a rather short response due to not knowing what to say. It was three days before she even sent the damn message:

_Hi, Anon._

_This message is so encouraging and I am glad you’ve found somebody to connect with. If you ever need a friend, I’m here._

_— E.R._

She hated it, but she pressed send anyway. Then she locked her phone and shifted until she was comfortable in her bed, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Because the dance was on a Saturday night, Emma got to sleep in a little bit the next Sunday morning. Her family wasn’t super religious or anything, for which she was thankful. No alarm went off and she was awoken naturally by her brain bombarding her with random thoughts at around noon, yet even then she just laid in bed for another half hour staring at the ceiling and listening to her music playing lowly from her phone speakers. When she finally pulled herself from bed, she tugged on her flannel pajama pants, grabbed her phone to pause the music and slide the device into her pocket and finally made her way downstairs to fix herself a bowl of cereal.

As Emma poured the milk followed by her Cinnamon Toast Crunch into a bowl, she felt her phone buzz, but she waited to check it, sliding into a seat across from her brother at the kitchen table. He was cramming toast and orange juice into his mouth, glancing up at his sister and squinting at her.

“I can’t believe you eat that.” He said through a mouthful.

“Eat what?” The girl teased, lifting her first bite of breakfast to her mouth as she awaited his response.

“ _That!_ ” He repeated, gesturing to her cereal with a nod of his head.

“Ted…it’s…cereal.” She responded quietly, making eye contact with him. She broke it to keep eating.

“You poured the freakin’ milk first, Emma! That’s _not_ how you eat cereal! You’re supposed to pour the actual _food_ in first!”

Either something was stressing him out or he was really passionate about the supposed-correct way to eat cereal, but either way, his older sister just rolled her eyes, finishing up the food then cleaning her mess. She returned to her room, closed the door, and stopped by her desk to put a record on—Queen’s greatest hits volume two. She then climbed back into her bed and pulled her phone out. Leaning against the headboard, she checked her notifications: a few texts in her main friend group’s chat regarding a homework assignment—which she ignored and decided to come back to later—a co-star notification that she didn’t bother to read, an Instagram alert that let her know Ellen Page had posted, and a Tumblr message. She clicked that one, the Tumblr message; she hoped and thought she knew who it was from and she was right.

Whoever that mystery girl was had messaged her again and, despite not knowing who she was or anything about her, Emma was happy. This was the first real connection she had made in a long time.

 _E_ _,_

_I could always use a friend, but a lot of things are personal, you know? I don’t feel comfortable sharing it publicly, hell, I can’t even sign my name on these things…so I’m not exactly fit to direct message you now, am I? Thanks for the offer, though._

_— x.x._

Emma wanted to respond immediately, but the mystery girl had a point. She wasn’t even comfortable revealing too much personal information about herself. She thought about it for several moments before she had an idea, or rather, she was inspired by Love, Simon.

 _Anon_ _,_

_Make an anonymous email. Then we don’t have to reveal our identities publicly or privately at all or worry about you accidentally sending an ask off anonymous. We can just…talk…_

_— E.R._

The response came about ten minutes later, in which time Emma had gotten up once briefly to flip her record to side B.

 _E_ _,_

_littlemissperfect_ _616_ _@gmail.com_

_— x.x._

That made Emma grin. The username seemed strange, but…she wasn’t going to question it. Being 100% anonymous could mean lying even with your username. Which was fine, when it came to protecting your identity if you needed to. At least, that’s what Emma believed. She answered the ask privately after going and making an email for herself.

 _little miss perfect_ _,_

_agn.98@gmail.com_

_— E.R._

It was probably stupid, but since she sent the last response, she was waiting for the anon to email her first, hoping to whatever god there may be that they did. Meanwhile, she checked her previously ignored notifications.

She quick-liked the Instagram post without actually viewing it closely—it was just a coffee cup—and swiped to dismiss her co-star after reading what the banner said: “You can be daring without being careless”, whatever that meant. She skimmed over the texts in the group chat, typing a quick reply and sending it. She chatted in there until a gmail notification popped up in the middle of her typing. She instantly clicked it, a half-written text instantly abandoned.

****


End file.
